


fractured moonlight on the sea

by trustingno1



Series: Season/Series 3 Alternate and Missing Scenes [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: The Abominable Bride, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 10:36:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5624056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trustingno1/pseuds/trustingno1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Once more, Sherlock," he says, under his breath, as he reaches for Sherlock's wrist, first two fingers pressing and searching, and he's not going to lose him again <i>here</i>, like <i>this</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fractured moonlight on the sea

**Author's Note:**

> Another short missing scene from TAB, and this is what _happens_ when I listen to Florence + The Machine, apparently.

 

 

  
"Which is it today?" Sherlock asks, frowning at him, and John glances at Mycroft, instinctively, uneasily, as Sherlock adds, "Morphine or cocaine? Holmes?" before his eyes roll back and he slumps forward in his seat.  
  
"Sherlock!" he says, lunging across the aisle. He grabs Sherlock's shoulder and pushes him back up. " _Sherlock_." Sherlock's head lolls to the side.  
  
"Oh, dear god," Mycroft murmurs, from behind him.  
  
"No," John says in reply, nonsensically. "Once more, Sherlock," he says, under his breath, as he reaches for Sherlock's wrist, first two fingers pressing and searching, and he's not going to lose him again _here_ , like _this_ \- "Come _on_." There's a pulse under his fingers, thready and quick, but _there_. "Heart rate's a little high for him," he says, steadily, and he can feel Mary's eyes on the side of his face.  
  
"You know his resting heart rate?" Mary asks, dubiously, and she's standing too, now, bent forward beneath the plane's low ceiling.  
  
"I _am_ a doctor," he says, as mild and pleasant as he can _be_ , turning his head slightly, eyes still on Sherlock's slack face.  
  
"Not his," she points out.  
  
"Well, I'm as good as," he bites out. Pauses. Swallows. "Sherlock," he says, tapping his cheeks with the back of his free hand. "Can you hear me?"  
  
"He warmer than usual, too?" Mary asks, mock-concerned, and John finally glances over his shoulder.  
  
"What are you implying?" he asks, tersely, and there's something inscrutable in her expression, and he turns his gaze back to Sherlock. As he counts Sherlock's breaths, he adds, almost conversationally, "How'd you know his phone passcode, anyway?"  
  
"Seriously?" Mary asks, "You want to talk about that _now_?"  
  
"I'm just curious," John says. "Respiration isn't depressed," he notes, almost to himself, with relief, then, to Mary, again, " _I_ don't even know it."  
  
She snorts, and he turns back to level a stare at her, can't help but notice Mycroft's almost _pitying_ gaze.  
  
"It's the same as mine, husband," Mary says, light and mocking, and clearly _everyone_ on this bloody plane knows he doesn't know _hers_. "5646," she adds, after a beat, and it hangs, meaningfully, between them.  
  
"I don't know what that means," he mutters, turning back to Sherlock.  
  
"No," Mary says, suddenly serious, "You don't, do you?"  
  
Mycroft pulls out his own phone. "As edifying and _helpful_ as this has been-"  
  
"No - don't," John says, reaching out as if to stop him. "No hospitals."  
  
"John," Mary says, reprovingly, "He needs proper medical-"  
  
" _No hospitals_ ," he repeats  
  
(no hospitals if he can help it; not for Sherlock, who startled awake every time he started to drift off for _weeks_ , jerking back awake _violently_ , eyes darting around his hospital room, then, later, 221B's living room, darting over to John, who never looked up from his newspaper, never turned away from his blank blog entry, but stayed, stayed until Sherlock fell back into an uneasy sleep, stayed as though he could personally chase away whatever faceless demons were torturing him (doesn't know what ( _who_ ) it was, specifically, because he never _asked_ , never wanted to _know_ if it was his wife holding a gun Sherlock saw every time he closed his eyes)).  
  
He braces his hand on the back of Sherlock's seat and ducks his head, ignoring Mary and Mycroft.  
  
"Once more," he says, again, roughly, close to Sherlock's ear and there's a long pause. "I need you to wake up so I can _bloody well kill you myself_ , you absolute _cock_ ," he says, ragged and suddenly _furious_ , because this isn't how it _ends_ , "That is an _order_."  
  
"John," Mycroft says, reluctantly, and John doesn't lift his head.  
  
"No," he says, and presses his forehead hard against the seat. He takes a deep breath. "Once more, Sherlock," he says, quietly, "For me."  
  
A longer pause, but, "John," Mycroft says, again.  
  
He stays there for a beat, before lifting his head and stepping away, Sherlock's clammy wrist falling from his grip. He jerks his head in a nod at Mycroft. "Yeah. Call." He clenches his jaw. Almost misses the way Sherlock's breath catches -  
  
He spins around, hand landing back on the seat above Sherlock's shoulder, and Sherlock sucks in a noisier breath, eyelids fluttering, gaze darting around the cabin until it lands on John. He smiles, a little dopily, and John - _God_ help him - can't help a quick, relieved grin.  
  
"Miss me?"

 


End file.
